


Take it in Moderation

by PompousPickle



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, It's sickfic folks, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 16:17:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16857274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PompousPickle/pseuds/PompousPickle
Summary: “Careful, Old Man. You keep teasing me like that and I’m going to get you sick.”





	Take it in Moderation

**Author's Note:**

> No outright spoilers, this time, but it was written with Part 2 in mind.

“You know, this is what I meant about moderation.”

Yamato opened the door to Mitsuki’s dorm and slid inside, a mug of soup in one hand as he closed the door behind him. Mitsuki’s head felt thick and full of white noise, and his limbs were stiff and heavy.  It took him a full minute of staring before he blinked and shook his head, trying to get his brain to register anything other than the sight of Yamato standing in his bedroom, smiling gently.

“Not you too,” he finally sighed, sitting up in his bed. He was still dressed in his pajamas, and he was becoming increasingly aware that it was already well past noon. “I’ll use my moderation when I need it. I just got a little head cold. A few hours of rest and I’ll be back to practice in no time!”

He swung his legs over the bed, intending to get up and at least get dressed. If Yamato came with food, then the least he could do was look presentable while he ate. He really wasn’t that bad, after all.

However, his knees faltered the second his feet hit the ground, and he wavered where he stood. He felt his chest heave, and immediately started to cough despite himself. As soon as he looked back up, Yamato was standing directly in front of him, still smiling. Only this time, the man was infuriatingly smug. “No. I’m pretty sure I’m on Moderation Duty.” He grinned as he reached out a hand and gently pressed it against Mitsuki’s chest, pushing him backwards.

Mitsuki tried to steel himself, but he still fell onto the bed, as though he weighed nothing at all. His limbs felt like they were made out of lead, but Yamato had still managed to push him downwards without effort. He blinked blearily, wondering if he really was that weak after all, if he could maybe use a day to just recover.

“You made me soup?” Mitsuki finally asked, looking up as he readjusted himself back onto the bed. He tilted his head and looked at the mug, partially amazed that Yamato could make anything that didn’t involve opening a can and stirring it in a pot.

“Ah, Ichi did, actually,” he said with a chuckle, handing over the mug. Mitsuki grabbed for it with slight disappointment, holding it in his hands and taking in the warmth of the mug and the rich smell of the broth, just barely there beneath the cloud of his sinuses. “He kept going on about some old soup your mom used to make when he was sick. He tried to recreate it but…” he paused, running his hand through his hair. “I’m not sure how happy he was with it. You know that guy. He insisted that you make it better.”

Mitsuki let out a small laugh. That certainly sounded like Iori. He looked down at the broth, trying to make out the ingredients and flavors. He felt a vague pang of guilt; Iori had clearly worked so hard to get him the soup from his childhood, and Mitsuki was sitting in his bed wishing it was made by someone else instead.  “I’m sure it’s fine! Besides, my nose is a bit stuffed up and I can’t taste everything anyway!” he finally said with a firm smile, raising the mug to his lips.

“That’s what I figured. So I asked Sou to add in his own spices, to clear up your sinuses.”

Mitsuki froze before the broth hit his lips, ripping the mug away from him in a hurry. Yamato let out a howl of laughter, shaking his head as he sat down on Mitsuki’s bed. “God, you should have seen your face. Even with your stuffy nose, I’m sure you could have smelled Sou’s cooking from the kitchen.”

Mitsuki only glared as he finally took a long sip from the mug. “Careful, Old Man. You keep teasing me like that and I’m going to get you sick.” He swallowed it down, the broth easing his sore throat. He sighed in relief, not realizing just how badly he needed that. “I’m a pretty fit person; I’ll be over it in no time. A decrepit old man like you would be out for weeks.”

“Now you’re just being mean,” Yamato sighed, without a hint of ire in his voice. He leaned back on Mitsuki’s bed, grabbing for one of the pillows to prop himself up. “And after I came all this way to pamper and take care of you.”

Mitsuki froze, unsure of what to say to that. Suddenly he felt dizzy, and he wasn’t entirely sure it had to do with the fever. Yamato _had_ come over just to deliver the soup to him. Perhaps it was just because Mitsuki was sick, and it was Yamato’s job to take care of IDOLiSH7. But he had done it just for _him_. It wasn’t much, but it was _something_.

Though, Mitsuki couldn’t really give anything in return. Not right now. Not while he was feeling like this.

He groaned.

“Hm? Did I say something wrong?” Yamato asked, blinking as though he were lost in his own thoughts as well. “We need you bright and healthy, Mitsu. You deserve to rest and be spoiled too, sometimes.” He said it like it was so simple, like he was born to pamper and please Mitsuki. It was almost too much. Yet somehow, it wasn’t enough at all.

And so when the man got up to leave, Mitsuki couldn’t help but reach out and grab his sleeve to stop him, if only for a second.

Yamato looked down at him from over his glasses, brow furrowed in both surprise and concern. Only then did it occur to Mitsuki that he actually had to _say_ something. For the first time since he woke up sick, Mitsuki’s blood felt like it was made of ice.

“Ah…I realized something I could do,” he finally said, thinking on his feet. Yamato opened his mouth to protest, before Mitsuki let go of his sleeve. “I want to do some research. Could…could you put something on?” He gestured for his TV. It was silly, and it was selfish, asking Yamato to do more than he already had. But when Yamato smiled softly and nodded, he thought that maybe it was okay to indulge himself. Just this once.

“That’s just like you. Even when you’re sick, you still want to do work,” he laughed, turning towards Mitsuki’s entertainment center. He knelt down in front of the cabinet, pulling out a drawer full of idol lives and talk shows, arranged in a colorful array of box sets and DVDs. “Unless, you just like watching these for your own _pleasure_ , Mitsu.”

“What’s with that gross tone, Old Man? It’s not _your_ collection.” Mitsu coughed, grabbing for his soup to take another sip, now that it had cooled down some. He knew he should stop talking; his voice was only getting worse the more he spoke. He needed to save his voice beyond all else. Talking was one of the few skills he had. If he lost that, there would likely be nothing left.

Still, he liked talking to Yamato. More than just about anyone else.

“Besides, who said it can’t be both?” He mused as he watched the other man, stifling another cough. “Anyway, I think…I think I want to watch some Re:Vale. I want to see Momo-san,” he finally said, hating how weak his voice felt when he said it. “I’ve been trying to follow in his example lately but I ju-” he coughed again, before huffing in frustration. “God just _fuck_ my throat.”

“…….eh?” Yamato immediately looked up from the DVD collection.

Mitsuki chucked a pillow at him, his face flushed over bright red. 

“Shut it, you dirty old man!” He shouted, before the strain caught up with him. He took another long swig of his soup, desperately trying to calm his throat. Yamato only laughed, popping in a season of Re:Vale’s show. He grabbed the pillow as Mitsuki pulled out the controller and began to navigate to an episode he wanted.

Yamato made his way back over to the bed, sitting down next to Mitsuki. Gently, almost too gently, he grabbed Mitsuki’s shoulder and rocked the man forward, placing the pillow behind his back to prop him up. Mitsuki’s head was spinning, and he wasn’t sure Yamato taking care of him like this was all that good for his health. His heart was racing too quickly, and he was beginning to like having Yamato’s undying attention way too much.

“You don’t have to watch it with me,” he finally said, nudging Yamato away from him playfully. “It’s a cold, I’m not going to _die_ if you leave me alone,” he laughed, trying to disguise just how badly he wanted Yamato to stay. “Besides, I’m sure you have other things to do today…” he trailed off, grabbing the mug and finishing it off before he could sound any more pathetic than he already did.

“I really don’t have anything better to do. And I’ve sat through worse TV shows,” Yamato shrugged, leaning back and kicking up his legs onto the bed. He adjusted his glasses before turning back to face the TV. “Besides, if I’m not in here, Ichi will just fret over you instead. Guy’s got enough to worry about right now, don’t you think?”

“Oh so now it’s about Iori,” Mitsuki sighed, biting back a small smile. “You could just admit that you want to stay here and watch with me.”

“I want to stay here and watch with you.” Yamato blinked, turning back to face Mitsuki with startling honesty. “If that’s okay,” he finally added, and Mitsuki almost believed that the man wasn’t simply trying to humor him. He wanted to believe it, in any case.

Yamato was always doing so much for them, even if he pretended he wasn’t. Even now, Yamato was watching out for everyone, in his own way. And all Mitsuki could do was hide away in his room and wait to get better.

He stared at the TV for a long moment, eyes shifting in and out of focus. He didn’t realize how exhausted he was until there was food inside of him. Before, all he could think about was how light his head felt, and how badly his throat and eyes ached. Now, his body felt warm, and heavy, and the world seemed to be pushing him downwards.

Still, he wanted to focus on Momo-san, and how easily he commanded the guests on his show. How thoroughly he captivated the audience. He couldn’t make it to practice today. But he could still do this much. He could still learn how to be better, and how to get stronger at being an MC. After all, it was the one thing he could give to IDOLiSH7. It was something he could give back to Yamato for taking care of him today. It would be no good if he didn’t give it his all.

“Ah, Mitsu…”

Mitsuki hadn’t realized his eyes were closed until he was opening them slowly. He looked up, realizing that he had shifted over, nearly pressed into Yamato. The other man was looking down at him, a tiny smiling tugging at his lips. “I knew you’d moderate yourself eventually,” he said with a smirk, moving in just a little closer.

Mitsuki almost smacked him, on sheer instinct. But Yamato was right; he didn’t have the energy. He needed to rest. And now with a stomach full of soup, gentle background noise on the TV, and a warm body next to him, Mitsuki couldn’t think of a good reason to fight it. His eyes were too tired, and his mind was slowly fading out. Despite himself, he was slowly slipping into Yamato’s arms.

He felt his head against the other man’s chest, his brain struggling to catch up with it. He could just barely feel a hand card through his hair, as arms wrapped around him. And for a moment, Mitsuki wondered if his fever was worse than he thought, if he was creating some kind of crazed dream.  

“You’re going to get sick,” Mitsuki finally said, wondering if that was enough to push Yamato away.

He was beginning to wonder why he always pushed Yamato away.

“Hmm,” the other man responded with a hum, pulling himself around so that Mitsuki was fully slotted against him, using his chest as a pillow. “I could use a day or two off,” he mused. “Will you pamper and spoil me?”

“I’m not going to watch porn with you, if that’s what you’re asking,” Mitsuki fired back, his words barely registering even as he said them. Still despite the exhaustion, and the fever and the soreness and pain, something in Mitsuki felt completely at ease. He felt content to stay this way, if only for now. Just as a selfish indulgence while he was sick.  “Still, I suppose I owe you,” he added, stifling back a yawn. “I can at least make you my mother’s soup. The correct recipe, this time. It’s the least I can do.”

He could feel Yamato’s chuckle, his chest moving up and down as he continued to run his fingers through Mitsuki’s hair. And Mitsuki finally gave in, letting his eyes drift shut for one last time. He let the sounds of Momo and Yuki’s voices wash over him, chattering into obscurity as the sounds began to fade.

“You have no idea. You do much for us, Mitsu.”

Mitsuki wanted to respond. He wanted to argue. He wanted to bask in the praise. But he couldn’t find the strength to do either. Not while he was so sick and weak. Not when he could barely speak without coughing. Instead, he just buried himself deeper into Yamato’s chest, letting his words blend into the sound of his heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can always drop by @pompouspicklep to cry about ymmts with me. Or just shake your head sadly as you watch me cry about ymmts alone.


End file.
